


These Memories, They Sting And Throb

by Buckets_Of_Stars



Series: The Art Of Being Found [3]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Flashback, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Peter Parker, I promise, Internal Thoughts, Kid Peter Parker, Mama Bear Tony Stark, Memories, Nightmare, Past Torture, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Stark - Freeform, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Scared Peter Parker, The next one will be the aftermath of this nightmare, Torture, and he is getting one in the next part, dad tony stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 06:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14971277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckets_Of_Stars/pseuds/Buckets_Of_Stars
Summary: Thoughts and emotions. That’s all Peter knows right now. Terrible, horrible, painful thoughts and emotions.





	These Memories, They Sting And Throb

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!;D Next one should be out by tomorrow so keep a look out cause that one is gonna have much more hurt/comfort.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.

 

* * *

_Those haunting gray eyes, they bore into Peter._

  
_A voice, emotionless and raspy, spit out of dry and cracked lips._

  
_“More sedative. Stop his squirming! We must get every last drop, every single morsel we must drag out.”_

  
_A prick in his elbow. Hands, cold, gloved hands that smell of rust and chemicals, slicked with jell, touch his arms, push his head back. He struggles, trying to lift his arms, his head, his feet._

  
_The restraints tighten, cutting off circulation. His hands clench. Unclench. He tries to call out, to force air from his lungs, but he can’t speak, can’t move, can only watch, eyes glazed over with tears and fogged from sedation._

  
_He wants his Daddy. So much. So much so much so much._

  
_White lab coats bustle about._

  
_They rustle at the ankles, pulled taunt around the hands, stretched as thin and warn as the bleached skin of the wearers. Back and forth across the room, eyes blank, unseeing of the horrors in front of them as they pace._

  
_Around and around they go. When they stop, when they stop and see, no one knows._

  
_The IV line drips overhead. It counts the seconds, one after another, an endless hour glass of every second Peter misses._

  
_Every second he is forced to endure. To suffer. To bleed and cry. To scream._

  
_Red._

  
_A splash of it, as dark as night, almost black. It streams out of the tubes, out of his arms and legs, into a machine, a box of metal and plastic. They never stop, never cease even when the loss of it makes Peter’s head spin and his arms weigh heavy against the restraints._

  
_By that time he is too tired to struggle._

  
_A head band, hard, made of black metal and covered in small wires, gets shoved onto his face. The edge of it cuts against his forehead, shaping his skin to the imprint, molding him into something that he doesn’t want to be._

  
_The same gray eyes watch. He can see them out of the corner of his eye, dark on pale skin, ghostly, a haunting white under the fluorescent bulbs overhead._

  
_A sharp grin._

  
_Lips so dry they bleed, soaking into the edges and dripping down, down into the impeccable whiteness of the lab coat._

  
_A shriveled rose in the snow. The far away sight of a blazing fire in the pale haze of dawn._

  
_The same voice, cooing right into his ear, ruffling the sweaty hair and soaking through the sponge of sedatives that crush his willpower._

  
_“We need all of this, boy. All of those smarts you have up there.” A heavy pat to the head, rattling his teeth and shaking the bed. “We need them out here, so we can use them. So we can use you.”_

  
_The hand cups his face, turns his eyes upwards until he is forced to stare at the blank gray ones floating above._

  
_“We need to drain you of them all.”_

  
_A click._

  
_Something hums, vibrating the air around them like the final second before a lightning strike. The gray eyes crinkle, moving above him to look to the side._

  
_“More power. We need to drain and prod. Remember: drain and prod. Force it all out.”_

  
_The humming gets louder, the restraints and headband tightening. A snap, like elastic. The headband vibrates._

  
_The gray eyes twinkle, lips stretching._

  
_“Perfect.” A purr._

  
_A flash. Gone. Movements around, people speeding, bumping into each other. A smell, like burning rubber and the singe of heated metal._

  
_A jolt._

  
_Then the pain hits and Peter’s whole world lights up like the dying of a million stars._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!:D Comments and Kudos make my day!;)


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